I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered
by Solandriel
Summary: The Keeper and Asmodeus have returned to give their enemies yet more sleepless nights.
1. Where No Keeper Has Gone Before

DUNGEON KEEPER:  
  
I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered  
  
1  
  
Where no Keeper has gone before...  
  
Asmodeus and Brachus stared with interest, and above all bewilderment, at the array of tapestries hanging on the office wall. The Keeper stood by patiently, it's insubstantial arms folded, fingers drumming. The Mentors could detect that the patience that was present a short while ago was wearing very thin.  
"It's intriguing, Master," Asmodeus said politely.  
"And?" said the Keeper, raising a metaphorical eyebrow.  
"Well," said Brachus, "Isn't it a bit...well..."  
The Keeper leaned forward, it's eyes stopping inches from Brachus' own. "Mmm?"  
"Dangerous," said Asmodeus, "Is what my learned friend is trying to say."  
"That's as may be," said the Keeper, it's dual voice echoing in the chamber. It picked up a Dwarf's ribcage that Brachus had been using as a parchment rack. "But it is necessary. If it's one thing that being a Keeper has taught me, it's that no-one should be paymaster to a fat, bored, lazy army. Because if you are..."  
The Keeper slowly and deliberately crushed the ribcage. "Then the odds are stacked much more heavily against you during an assault."  
"But, Master," implored Asmodeus, "There have been no incursions from the humans above since the defeat of Brandicor six months ago. And now that you are a living entity in your own right, surely..."  
But the Keeper interrupted. "Ah, I may be a living entity, but I still rely on the Dungeon Heart for my lifeforce, even though I can move a great distance from it. It would be foolhardy of me to assume that I could withstand a large assault from a massed rebellion of surface dwellers. If enough of them got in and destroyed the Heart, they would also destroy me."  
"So why do you want to leave?" said Brachus, "Surely the army of undead that you have amassed alone could crush any opposition. Never mind the hordes of Goblins and Trolls that have rallied to your cause."  
"Having troops is all very well," said Asmodeus, "But I see the Keeper's point. If a battalion of fighters got in here with a whole chapter of the local holy orders, they could lay waste to all the Vampires we have in an instant, and our advantage would be lost."  
Brachus nodded. "So we have no other option."  
The Keeper nodded. "We have seen the Uplanders start to turn towards their churches, chapels and monasteries for guidance in these troubled times. It's only a matter of time before a crusade is launched against me."  
Asmodeus looked once more at the tapestries. The arcane script that was scribbled on them was the work of a madman. A genius, there is no doubt, but a madman nonetheless. He shook his head. "Very well, Master. It shall be done. But I should warn you that the Warlocks will probably be killed if they perform this ritual."  
"A sacrifice is sometimes necessary, Asmodeus," hissed the Keeper. "Besides, I cannot take any of them with me."  
Asmodeus smiled faintly. "True, Master. Very true."  
Brachus started taking the tapestries down. "I shall take these to the library and make the necessary preparations."  
"Good," said the Keeper. It turned from it's Mentors and left the office.  
"I don't like it!" said Brachus. "It's an unnecessary waste!"  
"That's all right," said Asmodeus, "Because you're not coming with us anyway."  
Brachus glared at his colleague. "What?"  
"You're staying here and guarding the home roost. The Keeper has decided to trust my judgment on these matters as I seem to be the only one of us that has demonstrated any support for this scheme."  
Brachus' face reddened considerably as he became more an more flustered. "I can't believe I'm hearing this! I have served Calisto faithfully these many years, and I will not see our partnership jeopardised!"  
"Partnership? We are servants, pure and simple, Brachus. I would have thought you'd have learnt that by now." Asmodeus reached into his robe and pulled out a dagger. "But, alas, I'm afraid you never will."  
Brachus, a surprisingly speedy man for his bulk, cast the tapestries aside and ran screaming at Asmodeus, hatred boiling in his veins. "I never liked you, you conniving bastard!" He grabbed Asmodues' wrist and tried to twist the dagger's blade towards the belly of its wielder.  
"The feeling is mutual," replied Asmodeus with a slight strain in his voice. Brachus was very strong, his weight lending him a considerable advantage.  
They wheedled around the room in this fashion for some time, knocking over chairs, crashing into the desk, sending quills and inkpots flying in all directions. This confrontation had been coming for a long time, and it showed in every twitching muscle on the combatants faces, every bead of sweat that slid from their brows.  
Asmodeus managed a kick on Brachus' shin, but he was overbalanced, landing in a heap underneath his large opponent. The dagger skittered across the floor, going underneath the desk. Brachus clamped his hands tightly round Asmodeus' throat and squeezed. The Mentor's eyes bulged out of their sockets as he gasped for breath.  
"Goodbye, Asmodeus," said Brachus triumphantly, "See you in Hell."  
Suddenly, there was a thud, and Brachus stiffened. A muffled cry escaped his trembling lips and he collapsed on top of Asmodeus once more. A pick-axe was protruding from Brachus' back.  
Asmodeus managed to slide out from under the huge body and saw an Imp standing behind it. It saluted proudly, retrieved it's pick-axe, and scurried off into the corridor.  
The Mentor got shakily to his feet and made a mental note not to kick that particular Imp. He looked down at the body. Poor, foolish Brachus. Did he not know when his time was up? He obviously never understood dungeon politics. Survival of the fittest was the name of the game, and if that meant sucking up to the boss to get a promotion, then you could not allow yourself to show an inch of pride or ingratitude.  
"I see the best man won," said the Keeper's disembodied voice.  
Asmodeus calmly picked up the tapestries, rolling them together. "As my late colleague was saying, sir, I will take these to the library and make the necessary preparations."  
"Very good, Asmodeus." The Keeper fell silent.  
Asmodeus smiled and walked briskly along the corridors. He marched past the squeals of delight coming from the torture chamber. Now was not the time for a spot of voyeurism.  
His journey took him through a massive lair chamber, where all manner of creatures cohabited in a rather tenuous show of allegiance. Bile Demons glanced sideways at the Goblins who occupied several beds close by. A troop of skeletons marched through, ignoring the angry cries of the Bile Demons. Warlocks were snoozing on their thrones, fidgeting restlessly as their dreams turned into thoughts of the Vampires that dwelt in a separate lair elsewhere in the complex.  
Asmodeus left the lair behind and entered the library, self-appointed home of the leader of the Warlocks, Grell. The one-time Wizard of the Uplanders and right-hand man to Avatar Brandicor looked up when he heard the Mentor enter.  
"Ah, Asmodeus. How good of you to drop by. What brings you here?"  
"The trans-dimensional gateway."  
"Oh. That nonsense again. You know what it could do to everyone."  
"My Master is well aware of the risks, Grell, however he knows that Brandicor was working on it just before he died. And you and Melkum were the only ones who would have known how to put it together." Asmodeus stepped very slowly towards Grell, his eyes hooded and menacing. "We have been good to you up until now. Let's not spoil it. Hmm?" 


	2. The Gateway

DUNGEON KEEPER:  
  
I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered  
  
2  
  
The Gateway  
  
For several days, Grell's entire troop of Warlocks poured over the manuscripts of Solacious the Mad, a Warlock who had lived a couple of centuries ago, when the Keeper was just an aura in a Hell Demon's eye.  
His work was quite radical, and to many who read it, downright foolish, but it interested the Keeper particularly, as it was always on the lookout for new challenges. And what better a way to find new challenges than through an inter-dimensional gateway. See the sights of your multiverse for a mere dozen Warlocks! The chief excitement was fear of the unknown...  
Asmodeus did not see it in quite the same way, but he was willing to stay by his Keeper on this ludicrous project to keep his skin intact. He did not wish to be another parchment rack, so he kept his true thoughts on the subject very much to himself. He gazed at the fresh pieces of parchment that were landing on his desk with a macabre fascination. When the ancient writings had been translated into a readable form, it made even less sense than the original gibberish. Still, this was work for Warlocks, and he was not about to tell Grell his business. They needed him...for the moment. He bundled the pages together, tied them together with a length of twine, and carried them through the dingy corridors towards the Dungeon Heart, the place where the Keeper still dwelt when not dealing with the pressing duty of torturing the survivors of Skybird Trill. Asmodeus stepped onto the leathery surface of the membrane and closed his eyes as he descended through it to the hidden chamber below. The journey to his Master's domain did not bother him much any more. He had been through far worse in the many years of campaigning against the Uplanders. The Keeper awaited him by a large crystal table. On it's surface images could be seen flitting to and fro. The images settled into a cohesive whole. A large temple was in view, ornate and decorated with representations of a motherly looking goddess. The Keeper sneered, as did Asmodeus. Out of the doors of the Temple marched a band of Priestesses dressed in white robes which left little to the imagination. Asmodeus could not stop his eyebrow arching at the sight of these near naked followers. The view followed them until the table showed them a whole horde of members of various religious sects, all gearing up to march against the Keeper's undead forces. "How?" breathed Asmodeus, "They couldn't possibly build up this much without us knowing about it." "Nevertheless, Asmodeus, they have. You forget, the gaze of our scrying devices cannot pierce the walls of their temples. They have divine protection from such Evil." Asmodeus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We'd better make preparations to move on as quickly as possible." "For once, we agree," said the Keeper, it's dual voices sounding troubled. Asmodeus simply nodded. He carried his scrolls to the center of the Heart chamber and rose up once more through the membrane and marched to the library, where his entire complement of Warlocks was still working feverishly on the translation of the scrolls. "We have three days before we are raided by the vengeful wrath of the Uplander temples," he announced. Grell stared at him in utter disbelief, as did the others. There was a long moment of dreadful silence which they all refused to break. Grell nodded briskly and returned to his work. Asmodeus could sense their unease, however, and was almost relishing the prospect of the Warlocks dropping dead after the spell was completed. He was also hoping that irony would not creep into this occurrence and have everybody else dropping dead too. Including him.  
  
Over the following three days, things began to get very interesting.  
Firstly, there was the fact that the library had to be extended by the imps so that Dragons could fit inside the room and help with the research. This caused no end of grief for Grell who couldn't stand to be anywhere near them. The Warlocks just shrugged and got on with their work, knowing how valuable the dragons' knowledge was with arcane languages. Things began to move much more swiftly.  
Secondly, there was the alarming revelation that the spell was shaping up to be more cataclysmic than first predicted. Not only did this mad genius create a spell that could move the caster between the myriad dimensions that existed outside their own world, but the spell itself came from outside their universe.  
The Dragons, who perfected the movement between worlds centuries before the time of the Keepers, recognised the language in the scrolls, and were able to pick up on the minute details that were crucial to the spell's success. By the third day, it became clear that the Dragons and the Warlocks were going to have to work in tandem to make sure the spell worked, and that was a bitter blow for the Keeper, who was hoping to be able to take his Dragons with him into whatever lay beyond the gateway.  
On the evening of the third day, everything had fallen into place, but there was little time for rehearsal. A hero gate was beginning to manifest just outside the outer walls of the dungeon, and they knew it was only a matter of time before the walls came down.  
Several walls and doorways that surrounded the Dungeon Heart had been excavated in order to make room for the Dragons and Warlocks and the vast amounts of parchment that they were going to have to read from. The incantation was going to take at least fifteen minutes, long enough for the holy party outside the walls to burst in and begin their assault. Goblins and Bile Demons were stationed at key points in the corridors that led to the Dungeon Heart, and Trolls had been working overtime building traps to pepper through the outer tunnels. Imps simply stayed out of the way to prevent themselves becoming battle fodder.  
Grell stood beside Asmodeus. The mentor gave him a sideways glance.  
"You're sure this is going to work?"  
"Of course."  
"Even with the Warlocks under so much pressure, and knowing they're going to die?"  
Grell glanced at Asmodeus. "They are absolutely dedicated to following this through." He paused, seemingly for effect. "Probably because they don't know they're going to die."  
Asmodeus fought hard to suppress the grin that was trying to rise to the surface. He looked around at the band of spell-casters. "Begin!" he said before clutching Grell's sleeve and guiding him down into the Heart to join his Master in it's chamber below.  
The Heart Chamber seemed to resound with a low hum as every single voice, human and Dragon, gathered in the energies and the power that seeped from the land around them. The floor began to slowly and steadily tremble. Dust could be seen coming from some parts of the walls. For an awful moment, it looked like they were going to falter, fearful that walls were going to fall in entirely and they were going to be swarmed on by the Holy Orders baying for blood and vengeance outside. The walls held. For the moment.  
One of the Dragons, known as Halfhorn because of a wound he had received in battle, began the first part of the spell, speaking quickly in a guttural language that defied comprehension by the untrained minds of the Goblins and Bile Demons.  
As he finished, the incantation moved slowly round the circle. When they were halfway through, the air began to become cloudy with Manna, the lifeblood of the spell. It seeped into the stone archwork of the Heart's platform, giving it a soft glow that lit up every human and bestial visage.  
Suddenly, there was a distance rumble and faint shouting, followed swiftly by the screams of dying Imps who had tried valiantly to keep the outer walls together.  
The Goblins drew their swords. The Bile Demons fiddled with the Morning Stars hanging from the ends of their massive horns, as if they were testing the spikes for sharpness. Trolls joined their ranks, hefting their hammers in fists clenched so tightly that the skin became a very pale green. Sweat stood out on their foreheads, and not just from the heat of the workshop.  
From down the maze of corridors came the sound of high-pitched screams, and the dungeon dwellers knew that the Vampires were trying to kill the monks and priestesses without much success. They knew their time had come.  
Several tense moments passed, during which all they could hear was the footsteps of the enemy and the drone of the incantation. Several Warlocks were beginning to turn pale and drawn, the lifeforce slowly but surely being drained from them by the power being generated. Eyes flitted from left to right as they tried to look at their comrades to see if the same thing was happening to them. Panic would set into the ranks at any moment, attack or no attack.  
Shadows came into view in the corridor. The determined step of a triumphant group of holy folk could be heard terribly clearly now.  
Behind the Trolls there was a thud as a Warlock collapsed, his skin the same colour as the parchment he had just landed on. His eyes stared vacantly out at his fellows and he breathed no more. For the other Warlocks, the penny had dropped. But they could not stop lest an even worse fate befall them should they not complete the spell.  
Several Monks rounded the corner, holding their holy symbols before them like shields, wielding spiked maces. They saw the Goblins waiting for them, gave a spirited cry, and charged into the fray. The Goblins screamed likewise, meeting the charge head on. One of them immediately had his brains dashed out by a mace as he cut one of the monks down. A pitched battle ensued in the confined space of the corridor, with the ringing of blade against mace and the cries of dying Monks and Goblins.  
Some Priestesses had made their way through the maze to another entrance to the Dungeon Heart, but the Bile Demons were waiting for them. They snorted and belched, sending clouds of poisonous gas floating towards them before pushing their massive bulks forward to block the entrance and swing their morning stars. The Priestesses choked on the gas, one or two of them actually vomiting on the flagstones. They drew thin, rapier like weapons and fought their way through the poison towards the great red giants.  
The Dragons were lasting out remarkably well, but nearly all the Warlocks were lying motionless on the floor, having completed their part of the spell. The Manna in the air was palpable, lending everyone a lurid green complexion. The Bile Demons seemed to have turned purple.  
The final Warlock collapsed and the spell was completed. The Dragons sagged with exhaustion and looked at each other, their scales brittle with age. They knew they would not survive the transition, so they gathered all their strength and roared their way towards the fighting which had spilled into the Heart chamber. The Trolls formed a perimeter around the Heart, waving their hammers and shouting out threats and obscenities.  
The Manna that had gathered in the room began to focus around the Heart, patches of it turning a bright, livid green.  
The Goblins were all lying dead by this point, and the Monks raced into the Heart chamber towards the Trolls. Suddenly, there were several wild cackles, and the Dark Mistresses appeared from another passage, their bladed gloves glinting wickedly in the torchlight. The Monks were horrified, but found a resolve to stand their ground. The Trolls, heartened by the support from the Dark Mistresses, fell to with their hammers, smashing left right and centre against the ever increasing ranks of the Holy Orders.  
The Heart had all but absorbed the manna now. It lost all sense of shape and solidity. In the chamber, Asmodeus braced himself for the transition, a little saddened at leaving what was once an insurmountable force behind fighting what was almost certainly a losing battle.  
Suddenly, there was an almighty explosion emanating from the Heart. It seemed to disintegrate, and a vortex of pure magical energy spread out, wiping out all that stood before it, both man and monster. Walls and flagstones crumbled, Imps winked out of existence as they were swallowed up by the tide of magic.  
The energy dissipated, running out of steam as it reached the outskirts of the dungeon walls, destroying the hero gate.  
In the Heart chamber, there was nothing save a crater that had been left behind by the Dungeon Heart's departure. 


	3. Reversia

DUNGEON KEEPER:  
  
I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered  
  
3  
  
Reversia  
  
When the quaking subsided, Asmodeus emerged from his curled up position under the disused crystal plinth. He went immediately to the Keeper, who was standing with it's eyes closed.  
"Do you feel it, Asmodeus?" it said quietly.  
"Feel what, Master?" asked the Mentor with apprehension.  
"The Manna. The magical energy here. It feels....different somehow." The Keeper shuddered slightly. "Cleaner."  
Asmodeus crinkled his nose in disgust. "That will never do, Master."  
Just then, the sound of chipping was heard from above – the Imps had started early it seemed.  
"I'll go and check on the diggers. See where they've found the portal."  
The Keeper nodded opening it's eyes briefly to glance at the large crystal table that dominated one side of the room. It frowned. The landscape it showed seemed familiar, and yet apparently untouched by civilization. It walked over to the table and waved a hand across it. The view zoomed rapidly in on a cluster of hills where a town dominated by a keep was situated. The Keeper grinned. This was more like it, something for it to get it's teeth into. He waved his hand once more to take a closer look at the inhabitants.  
If the Keeper had a jaw, it would have dropped.  
  
Asmodeus made his was along the newly formed corridors, musing over what he felt was a failed exercise in magical practice. They were definitely somewhere new, but he was convinced that they had not moved into another dimension. This was just another town or city as yet undiscovered in the Sunlit Kingdom.  
The pattering of feet and the chattering voices were drawing closer as he moved towards what was undoubtedly a portal. He stopped. Chattering voices. But Imps hardly spoke when they went about their duties, and only then with the occasional yelp as he kicked them. Something was wrong. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and poked his head around the corner. He had a jaw, and it promptly dropped.  
  
"What are they doing in my dungeon?!" screamed the Keeper. There was more red than blue in it's aura as it spoke. The air was palpable with anger and tension.  
"I'm not sure, Master, however, I shall endeavour to remove them immediately."  
"I don't want them here! They stink up the place and make it look untidy!"  
"With all due respect, Master, that is precisely the opposite of what they have done. They have walled the tunnels and the Heart Chamber, they have dug out various areas for rooms, they've found a gold seem and appear to be mining it quite efficiently. Though that's hardly surprising considering they're..."  
"Don't!" snapped the Keeper, "Don't even say that word!"  
"As you wish, Master," said Asmodeus obediently. He bowed and left the chamber, emerging to discover his new workforce standing expectantly around the archways that guarded the beating membrane of the Dungeon Heart. He looked around at them, poised to flee should they leap forward and attack him, but they didn't. Eventually, he shrugged and stepped down from the archway.  
One of the newcomers suddenly piped up, "So what are we doing now then?"  
Asmodeus nearly jumped out of his skin. But then he should not have been surprised.  
After all, Dwarves are capable of speech.  
  
The Dwarves were both a blessing and a curse; a blessing because they were very hard workers, and a curse because they set Asmodeus' teeth on edge more than any Imp ever did.  
In the space of three hours, the Keeper had a fully functioning Dungeon, with all the basic rooms. It was just a case of waiting to see what the portal spat out.  
They did not have long to wait. There was a bright flash at the centre of the four giant quartz crystal pillars and a hand emerged from the crack in the ground. What emerged was the antithesis of everything that Asmodeus held dear. The man in the brown robes stood with a slight stoop, showing the bald patch on his crown. The monk smiled benignly at Asmodeus and waddled off down the corridor towards the lair without a word.  
The Mentor stood rooted to the spot, watching the retreating back of the monk disappear round a bend in the passageway. He turned slowly back towards the portal as another flash erupted, and an old wizened man in blue robes and wearing a slightly floppy pointy hat emerged from the light. The wizard bowed slightly and marched past, his staff tapping rhythmically on the dungeon floor.  
Asmodeus watched the wizard walking away in much the same flabbergasted manner in which he had observed the monk entering his Master's domain. As he watched – for he had to see it through now, curiosity somehow winning over his sense of disbelief – as Sylvan Elves, knight errants, muscular barbarians clad in nothing but loin cloths, more monks, and more wizards all emerged from the portal with perfect amiability. The Mentor shook his head.  
"This is the last thing I was expecting," he said to himself, "I thought this was supposed to be a parallel universe, not the opposite!"  
"Who knows what went on in the mind of Solacious the Mad," said the Keeper's voice in Asmodeus' head.  
"I don't think anyone will ever know, Master," said the Mentor. He silently cursed the long-dead sorcerer and his ravings. Then again, there was no real need for them to actually go through with this wild and crazy scheme. They could have lived out the rest of their existence surrounded by the glories of their victories and an army none could surpass. But like all great evil entities, the Keeper saw that as being too easy.  
Asmodeus decided to go to his study. The Dwarves should have finished building it by now, he thought. Hopefully, they won't have seen fit to decorate the room with flowers.  
  
Fortunately for Asmodeus, his study was exactly as he had asked it to be designed. The skulls that decorated each corner of the room, however, looked distinctly non-human. But then, he should have expected this. If he was going to be building an army made entirely of what could only be described as the forces of good, then chances are the forces he would be facing were evil.  
And if anyone had told me a few days ago that this was going to happen, I would have laughed at them, he thought. Still, one has to make the best with what one has.  
He decided against building a torture chamber. After all, heroes did not have the stomach for it, and he was hardly likely to attract any Dark Mistresses in this gods-forsaken place.  
He picked up his ever writing quill and his leather bound tome and decided to take an inventory. He wandered around the corridors and rooms, finding the whole thing very surreal.  
Knights in shining armour were swinging their broadswords in the training room alongside Sylvan Elves who were practicing their archery. Wizards were scouring through the books and scrolls of the library, performing research on spells and enchantments. Dwarves were hammering and smelting in the workshop, creating traps to help guard the outer defenses. Monks were in the temple, bowing and chanting at the giant open hand that represented the Dark Gods reaching upwards at the world from The Abyss.  
In the end, Asmodeus decided to retire for the day, uncertain as to his feelings on this whole situation. He lay back on the straw mattress in his study, lay the tome and quill beside it, and stared at the ceiling.  
It was a long time before he saw any sleep. 


	4. A Strange Concept

Dungeon Keeper:  
I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered  
  
4  
  
A Strange Concept  
  
The Keeper was scanning the outer reaches of this new underground domain. He soon found what he was looking for.  
Rather than the traditional hero gate, with it's white marble arches and pious ethereal voices emerging from thin air, this world's version of an invasion portal was altogether different. It seemed to comprise a circle of red flame suspended in mid air, with a swirling vortex inside. Wailing and screaming and sounds of general torment issued forth from the Evil Gate, as the Keeper called it. If only I had things like that above ground, it thought.  
Asmodeus entered the Keeper's chamber. He held his tome open at the page where he had taken his inventory and began to read it out.  
"So, in total," the Mentor said in conclusion when he finished the list, "We have fifty troops, all of whom are more than willing to follow you until death. Strange, I know, given their slightly human inclination, however, a formidable force, to be sure."  
The Keeper looked up. "Why am I here, Asmodeus?"  
Asmodeus' eyes flickered slightly, but he did not display any of his distress at this question. "That's easy, Master. To smite the enemy and bring your power to bear on the land above, sire."  
"Exactly. I am going to be forcing out my brethren and bringing in a plague of goodness such as the world, at least this one, has never seen."  
Asmodeus frowned. He could see how perplexing this was. "I can see your point, Master. A strange concept, but an interesting one none the less."  
"What makes you say that?" asked the Keeper, it's head raising slightly from it's depressed position.  
"Just imagine what you could accomplish. You could make Good the new Evil in this world. Monsters and creatures will quake in terror at your capacity to destroy the storms and sulphur pits. They will shiver as you bring forth an army of bunnies into their midst too numerous to counter. The world is your oyster, Master."  
"I am not so sure about that, Asmodeus. I think the last thing these creatures will do is flee in terror at the first sight of a troop of Dwarfs offering them a bunch of flowers singing of peace and..." The Keeper made a strangled sound. "Love."  
"A sound judgement, Master. One which would have me sending in the heavy mob straight away. Barbarians and Elven Archers should see them off, with perhaps a supporting phallanx of Dwarfs to back them up. They can do the mopping up at the end and pick up the treasure for us."  
The Keeper shook it's head. "It's not going to be that simple, Asmodeus."  
"We shall soon see, Master."  
  
The Dwarfs continued their diligent work, tunneling, and digging out new room spaces. When they completed the rooms, of course, they looked entirely different to the way they would have looked in the Keeper's domain. He was still lord and master over all he surveyed, but what he saw did not please him greatly.  
Lairs were lush carpets of magically charged grass, with tents pitched where bubbling pits and fetid bug-ridden beds would normally be. Even a fake sun was provided by one of the Wizards so they could feel at home.  
Training rooms were filled with more bestial figures and targets were provided for the Elves and Wizards to practise their long distance defences.  
The torture chamber and the Temple did not seem to exist in this dimension, however the graveyard was still present, though Asmodeus did wonder if it would ever produce any vampires. It would more likely produce ghosts, he thought, a singularly useless phantasm that they had long since abandoned the use of.  
All in all, the structure was sound and the rooms functioned normally. The only thing that didn't seem to change was the hatchery, but then what warm blooded creature didn't like fresh chicken?  
The Mentor glided through the corridors in sullen mood. He did not like their new denizens one bit, but then when had he ever liked anything disturbing his personal space? He sometimes liked the peace and quiet, and it was only a matter of time before that peace was shattered by an invasion of the Uplanders that had no business being above ground in the first place. Curse that Salacious the Mad!  
He entered his study, slammed his tome and ever-writing quill on the desk, and lazily waved a hand over his crystal ball. "Reveal," he muttered, his head supported by his hand.  
As he suspected, the forces above were beginning to mobilise, marching with grim determination towards the awaiting evil-gate. Well, the forces have been training for some time down here, he thought, they should be acclimatised by now.  
"Asmodeus!" cried the Keeper's disembodied voice, "I sense a force not known to me is leading these creatures!"  
Asmodeus widened the field of vision on his crystal ball. "I see nothing, Master."  
"Not a creature, you fool. A presence. It feels...strangely neutral."  
Asmodeus felt nothing himself, but he was not inclined to detect such subtleties as his Master was. "I shall have the Wizards look into it immediately, lord."  
The Keeper groaned at the mention of the Wizards. "I shall have to get used to hearing these words within my walls. Until such time as we can find a way back."  
If we find a way back, thought Asmodeus. "Yes, Master."  
"Very well. Have the weakling bookworms look for a way to find out what this presence is. And, if they could possibly have the capacity to do two things at once, have them work on reversing this infernal spell. I should have counted my blessings, Asmodeus. I should never have come here."  
The Keeper's voice faded sadly. The dungeon was silent. The stillness outside Asmodeus' study subsided as everything returned to business as usual. Dwarfs carried piles of refined gold to the treasury. Barbarian soldiers marched past in single file, apparently aware that they were under imminent attack. Wizards made their way to the library to begin their research, a few of them muttering under their breath about the Keeper's comments. And in the middle of it all in his study sat Asmodeus, feeling angry, lonely and totally out of his depth.  
He almost missed Brachus. At least he would have had someone he could talk to. No matter. The fat idiot had served his purpose, and now the position of Mentor was insurmountable. A smile threatened to stretch his face, but it quickly slipped away again at the thought of leading several goodly beings into battle against his own kind.  
  
Asmodeus buckled on his scabbard and slid his sword home, his hand shaking. He walked to the corner of his room and picked up his staff from it's resting place against the wall. His hand was still shaking.  
The nerves were unmistakable. He had never led such people into battle before. He knew exactly what the army coming their way was capable of. He had to hope that a guerilla warfare approach, using the corridors in a running battle, would be able to fend off the horde. But somehow, he didn't think so.  
He marched with what he hoped was a confident air out of his study and towards the lair. He cringed as he stepped onto the soft grass. The sun that hovered near the ceiling of the chamber was almost blinding to his subterranean vision and he called irritably for someone to remove it. A wizard, resting in his tent between research shifts, lazily lifted his staff and there was a bright flare as the sun disappeared.  
Asmodeus wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve and glared at the heroes assembled before him. "Today, we meet a force unlike anything encountered either by myself or my Master. They approach our domain as we speak. Imps are digging for our walls. Orcs, Trolls, Goblins, and other creatures are marching close behind them. It is only a matter of time before they are knocking on our door. You are all known for your bravery in the face of vast numbers. You are going to need every ounce of that courage. Let us go."  
Asmodeus turned and led his troops out of the lair and down the corridor, passing the Dungeon Heart as they went, it's pounding numbing the ears of all who walked by save the mentor himself. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he tried to stop his hands from trembling. The men behind him had jaws set in a determined way, the stubborness of the brave...or the foolhardy. It was hard to tell, for none betrayed any desire to be anywhere other than where they were.  
As they journeyed to the outskirts, Dwarfs began to join the group, filing in behind them with their battle-axes and pick-axes over their shoulders. They quietly hummed to themselves what was undoubtedly an ancient Dwarfish battle hymn. Asmodeus visibly cringed.  
They could here the sound of moving earth on the other side of the wall. They were trying to find a way in, a weak part of the wall they could easily breach. Asmodeus mingled in with the Dwarfs at the back. A couple of them grinned up at him. One of them even winked, the torchlight gleaming off his axe-blade. Asmodeus wondered how they could be so cheerful facing such overwhelming odds. Perhaps, if they survived this, he would find out.  
The chipping noises started to grow louder back down the tunnel. They had found a way in. Dust crumbled away in tiny little clouds from the masonry. The clay that held them together fell away in chunks. They were going to enter on the Dwarfish end of the lines.  
Asmodeus tried to rally his troops back into their key strategic positions, but it was too late.  
The section of wall caved in. 


	5. Once Friends, Now Enemies

Dungeon Keeper:

I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered

5

Once Friends, Now Enemies

The yell of the battle-cry that went up from the Dwarfs was almost deafening as they raised their axes into the air, cutting down the Imps that were trying to increase the gap in the wall. The first few Goblins that clambered over the small pile of tiny bodies did not see battle for very long, losing their heads to the Dwarfish axe-blades.

Orcs were clambering at the backs of the Goblins, desperate to get at the Dwarfs whom they hated with a passion. They were jabbing the ends of their war-hammers hard into the Goblins' backs, forcing them into the whirling axes. Goblin after Goblin fell, the pile of bloody bodies growing by the moment.

Asmodues made his way slowly back through the ranks as they began to move slowly back. The Orcs had finally joined the fray, the muscular, purple-skinned louts far stronger than their green-skinned counterparts. Dwarfs began to fall, each one that was crushed replaced instantly by another. No-one retreated. All stood their ground. It was almost inspiring for the Mentor watching the battle developing from the back.

"Archers!" he shouted. The barbarians ducked down, allowing the Elven archers a clear line of sight to the offending enemy. They loosed a volley of arrows, their whistling swiftly followed by a series of thuds and groans. As long as we can keep this up, thought Asmodeus, they'll get the message and run away.

But someone had given the hellish legion some courage pills that morning, for they continued to attack with a seething ferocity that Asmodeus had never seen in his own troops, never mind anyone else's. The Orcs' hammer blows were soon joined by the ones from the Trolls as they joined the fray.

Asmodeus ordered his few remaining Dwarfs to retreat to allow the much bigger and tougher barbarians in with their massive hammers. They soon made headway against the combined forces of the Orcs and Trolls, pools of green and purple blood mixing to produce the most vile colours.

The Orc and Troll numbers were diminishing fast as the Barbarians pummeled them into horrific submission. They were looking frightened for their lives, ready to bolt.

And then the skeletons arrived.

The sword weilding maniacs screamed and squealed their way into the the dungeon, smashing a larger hole in the wall in the process. The barbarian front lines were in serious danger of being swamped by the fearless creatures.

But there was an underlying sense of intelligence and reason among the barbarian forces that Asmodeus would never have noticed unless he fought alongside them. Blades were nothing to them, they could survive dozens of minor wounds, and they were letting the skeletons surround them. Whoops of delight and celebration erupted from the Orc and Troll ranks, sounds that soon died away with what happened next.

The barbarians formed a tight circle which soon became completely surrounded by skeletons. Angry wounds were appearing on the powerful warriors' backs until, as one, the circle turned, hammers forward, and smashed apart every single pair of legs in front of them. Then, again in unison, they administered the coup de grace, hammers smashing skulls to pieces a fraction of a second later.

The Orc and Troll infantries fell silent and stopped in their tracks. They saw the scattered bone fragments and realised quite suddenly that they would be next. As they suffered another volley of arrows from the Elves, they turned tail and fled.

Asmodeus stared at the battle with admiration and respect. These humans, Elves and Dwarfs knew how to fight. They had a tactical view on battle that he never saw in any of the creatures they were now facing. The Barbarians were chasing after the fleeing group of Orcs and Trolls, slaying any that they caught up with. The Mentor grinned and loosened the grip on his sword.

"Excellent work, Asmodeus," said the Keeper, his voice echoing throughout the dungeon. The Keeper also offered a grudging 'well done' to his army, which was slowly returning from the skirmish. Dwarfs immediately began to claim the corridors beyond the dungeon's borders until they eventually reached the Evil Gate. As soon as the area surrounding the Gate was under the Keeper's control, it shrank in on itself, there was a brief flash, and then it disappeared.

One of the Dwarfs approached Asmodeus and saluted smartly. "The lands beyond your borders appear to stretch quite a way, sir. Should we carry on claiming the land?"

Asmodeus looked down at the Dwarf, at the thin trail of blood oozing from a wound in his forehead. A tinge of admiration touched the Mentor at that moment. Such loyalty. "By all means. Watch out for traps. There will be many. Let me know when you've found the heart of their complex."

The Dwarf bowed slightly and crunched his way through the fragments of bone that littered the floor. Bodies were being hoisted up over Dwarfish shoulders as they collected the corpses for the graveyard. Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. He wondered what would come out from that room.

Reports began to filter back as time passed. Two more Evil Gates had been destroyed. Several rooms were found which they did not find at all pleasant. One of them sounded like a torture chamber, and the dwarf delivering the report wanted to know if Asmodeus wanted the room destroyed. For old times' sake, he said no. He reasoned that it would be nice to visit somewhere which he would at least find familiar. Then came the report that the Dwarfs had found a flight of stairs leading up.

"Up?" said Asmodeus incredulously, "Don't be ridiculous. How could it possibly go up? Nothing goes up down here!"

"Be that as it may, sir, nevertheless, there is a staircase. There's a trapdoor at the top."

Asmodeus hesitated. That would mean that this realm leads their forces above ground, a state that he was not used to travelling in. All these years, his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. Even after the Avatar and King Reginald the Just were slain and he had to venture to the Sunlit Kingdom, the Keeper had ensured that there would be no sunlight to blind his minions as they raided the homes of the Uplanders.Now, with the prospect of taking what were essentially a band of heroic warriors with a growing hatred of sunlight to face villages of creatures of foul state who didn't mind getting a suntan, Asmodeus did not relish the prospect.

He ushered the Dwarf away and hurried to the Dungeon Heart. He slithered his way into the Chamber to see his leader, The Keeper. When told about the staircase, the Keeper merely shrugged and said, "What of it? It is probably a forgotten secret passageway."

The Keeper paused for thought. After a few moments, he said, "You did keep that Torture Chamber, didn't you?"

"Of course, Master," said Asmodeus.

An insubstantial grin floated onto the Keeper's face. "Good. I have an idea!"


	6. Just Like Old Times

Dungeon Keeper

I Came, I Saw, I Slaughtered

6

Just Like Old Times

Asmodeus paced up and down in his office. The Keeper's idea was a sound one, granted, but he was much more the voyeur when it came to torture. He was not entirely sure if he could actually get his hands dirty. Still, there may be no alternative, he thought. Without the Mistresses in this realm…

The Mistresses…

A smile crept across his face. He grabbed his staff and swiftly made his way to the nearest barracks room, tapping on the gong just inside the doorway. The sound reverberated throughout the dungeon, and all it's denizens dropped whatever they were doing and headed for where Asmodeus was waiting. They found him standing behind the table, keeping it between himself and the entrance; he still was not used to heroes being in his midst and it always felt strange watching them all piling in through a doorway without shouting and screaming and yelling battle-cries.

The assorted troops filed in and waited patiently for the Mentor to speak. Asmodeus leant on his staff and gazed at the army before him.

"Gentlemen," he began, "We are going to be going on a scouting mission to the place where our enemy resides in order to capture some of their troops for interrogation purposes."

The Elves looked at each other nervously. Knights patted each other on the back, jeering at each other about the coming bloodbath – they seemed to have forgotten the bit about prisoners. The Barbarians looked at each other and shrugged.

"All I need is a volunteer to carry out these interrogations," continued Asmodeus. "We will be leaving in the next hour. Dwarves, prepare the prison and make sure that the torture chamber is ready for use."

There was a loud gasp from the assembled at the mention of the torture chamber. Being Humans and Elves, and ultimately heroic types, the very idea of inflicting pain on anyone to gather information was totally abhorrent to them. Shouts of protest began to fill the room, along with much shaking of fists and pointing of fingers.

Asmodeus nodded. "Yes, I had a feeling that it would prompt this reaction, however, needs must when the Keeper drives, and we must learn as much about our enemy as possible. The only way to achieve that is through using methods which most of you will find unsavoury but are completely necessary, and it has to be said, it is the only thing that these creatures will respond to." Asmodeus tried to prevent himself from smiling at the image in his mind of a Dark Mistress on all fours begging to be whipped into submission.

"All right," said the Elven troop leader, "Say we're able to capture a couple of those monstrosities and we get them to talk. So what? They'll probably lie to save their hides or get themselves a quick death!"

"Or they will talk quite freely and be granted the same," said Asmodeus, "but I assure you, we will try. And I know we'll succeed. We need to know as much about the enemy as possible, and if that means capturing them and …persuading them to reveal their secrets, then so be it."

The Elven troop leader scoffed at this, but he said no more. He sat at his appointed place at the massive stone table in the centre of the room. He shook his head.

The Barbarians did not question Asmodeus' logic. They were incapable of such feats of intelligence. They just needed an excuse to go out and fight some more.

The Wizards were huddled together in deep discussion until one of them broke off and said, "What of the medium of scrying? Does that not tell us anything about the enemy? It seems utterly pointless to have such magic at our disposal and not use it!"

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow and said, "The last Wizard I heard saying that managed to teleport himself to the bottom of a very deep abyssal trench in the deepest ocean, all in the name of 'progress'. My way is so much more effective, even if it does risk lives." As long as it isn't my own of course, he thought.

The troops assembled at the end of a specially constructed tunnel with several doors and traps put in place to receive any unwanted guests. The Dwarfs forged on ahead, carving their way in a gradual slope upwards, sensing that it would not be very long before they reached the surface.

Asmodeus' mind was racing. His own kind living above ground? Unthinkable! And yet, here they all were, heroes almost every single one, going out and looking for trouble as heroes so often do. He just hoped that they wouldn't blunder their way into whatever situation awaited them at the other end.

The figure was a mere silhouette as they watched the progress of Asmodeus and his troops through the growing tunnel. A smile played along the hidden features. Fingers steepled as the figure considered its best options. A hand dismissed the image, and the figure stood, stretching its magnificent wings.

The ceiling of the tunnel crumbled aside as the Dwarfs broke the surface. The flood of light was not unexpected, but still overpowering, and it took quite a while for everyone to adjust to the midday that blazed from above. Asmodeus was born and raised underground, and so was never told of this bright shining orb that was plaguing his vision. The only bright orb he had ever seen was a conjured fireball, but this paled in comparison.

The troops emerged, led by Asmodeus, blinking into the light and began to get an appreciation of their surroundings; at least Asmodeus did.

To the mentor, it was like a home from home. Indeed, the piles of dried out skeletons, the burning buildings, the plumes of smoke, and the general look of mayhem and chaos reminded him of how Skybird Trill looked after the first time himself and the Keeper conquered it when the Keeper was only one being and not an amalgamation of two. Asmodeus smiled to himself, noting that the Sun was beginning to be blocked out by the smoke and some thunderclouds that were gathering overhead. He surmised that perhaps they had found the right place.

A large fortification stood dominating the remains of the landscape a few miles away, with large walls festooned with spikes along the bottom and different types of siege engine along the top. Figures could just about be made out among the battlements moving back and forth in patrol mode. Very few windows were on the surface of the walls; most of the openings were arrow slits.

Asmodeus had an itchy feeling on the back of his neck, the same feeling he always got whenever he was being spied on. He half shrugged, thinking that it stood to reason that whoever was leading the settlement would have a scrying mirror much like the Keeper's own one. He drew his sword on impulse. On seeing this, most of the troops drew their weapons also.

"Remember," said Asmodeus, "We are here to capture _only_." There was an unspoken 'or else' at the end of that statement. Various heads nodded. Asmodeus led the way.

It wasn't long before they saw their first guard posts. Most of them were unmanned; however it was clear from the wreckage around that they were not expecting any trouble from outsiders. A great victory had obviously been won here, and the victors were somewhere celebrating. They had to take advantage of the distraction.

Suddenly, a loud cry sprang up all around them, and several Orcs and Trolls emerged from doorways and seemingly empty buildings. Some Elves were smashed to the ground by their hammers, but the Barbarians rallied quickly, blocking with their own hammers and striking back hard. Asmodeus did not mind too much; all he was interested in were the Mistresses. However, there appeared to be no sign of these elite troops. The Mentor had reasoned that the ability to build a torture chamber should have certain bonuses that came with it, particularly the leather clad femme fatales themselves. It seemed it was not to be.

The Barbarians made short work of the Orcs and Trolls, purple and green blood soaking into the ground from a sizable collection of smashed skulls. Everyone was ready to storm the keep, the adrenaline high, their blood lust not sated. Asmodeus hesitated, however. He did not like the feeling he was getting from the edifice before them. It had a strange sense of foreboding, a feeling he was used to engendering in his foes, not within himself. He looked at his forces; he had lost a few archers, but apart from that, the troop was more or less intact. He shrugged. Why not, he thought, they needed the exercise.

Then he heard the flapping of wings, a terrible and all too familiar sound. A deep laugh echoed across the landscape and off the castle walls, a laugh that he had heard from one who was both an ally and a foe depending on where the mood took him.

The muscular frame came into view, the blue skin taught across his chest and abdomen, the arms and legs rippling in anticipation of what was to come as one hand held a two handed sword as though it were a letter opener. The glowing spheres that passed for eyes bored into Asmodeus' own, the gaze laden with a challenge.

"Welcome to my home, Asmodeus," said Zalador, leader of the Dark Angels.

Asmodeus stared back at Zalador, trying not to show his surprise and fear. It was proving difficult. He drew his sword in defiance; his troops hefted their own weapons. Everyone looked at each other briefly as footsteps entered the remains of the city square.

Black Knights marched in formation, flanked by dozens of skeletons. Bile Demons brought up the rear. They were flanked also, but by more Trolls and a few divisions of Goblins. What Asmodeus had mistaken for birds on their arrival turned out to be nothing less than a flight of Dragons, their huge scaly forms gaining more detail as they brought themselves in to land. Their roars and short bursts of flame were enough to send most of the Dwarfs scarpering. The Barbarians, too stupid to recognise danger when they saw it, stood placidly near to Asmodeus, glaring at the magnificent beasts as they gripped their war-hammers tightly in ham sized fists.

Each army stared at each other across the square, faces grimacing with challenges, fear, and anger in equal measure. Shouts echoed across the space with invitations to death in various forms, disparaging remarks regarding various creatures' mothers, and insults about battle prowess.

Zalador and Asmodues stepped forward and faced each other about ten feet apart. Both smiled without humour, gripping their weapons tightly, Asmodeus' palm slick with sweat.

"Does it come to this now, Zalador?" cried Asmodues, "We who have faced death together on more than one occasion, facing annihilation from some foolhardy confrontation! It makes no sense!"

"You garnered our favour when last we met, Asmodeus, but no more. We cannot tolerate your presence here. You have tipped a delicate balance, bringing heroes into our realm. It's dangerous!"

"Any more dangerous than what you have brought before us here today?"

Zalador smiled. "This is but a fraction of what awaits you inside those walls. If I were you, Asmodeus, I would just put this one down to experience and go back to your pathetic little underground domain. Plump up the pillows and heat the milk for your precious Keeper who has long since passed its prime!"

Anger flashed in Asmodeus' eyes. He's trying to goad me into attacking, he thought. Why does he not finish us now?

Zalador continued, "What are you waiting for, Asmodeus? Permission from that worthless puddle of essence that you call your Master? Or is it Mistress? I can never be sure." The smile on the Dark Angel's face remained a frozen rictus as Asmodeus continued to refuse to budge.

The Mentor returned the smile. "You can't attack me, can you?"

Zalador's eyes flickered slightly, enough for Asmodeus to notice. His expression became pinched, and the grip on his sword tightened.

Asmodeus said, "I think there are rules in place, strictures about which you have no control over. Who is really at the top of this, Zalador?"

Zalador tried to look confident, despite the sweat breaking out on his forehead, but he was not doing very well. "That is not your concern!" he said, trying to sound dangerous.

"Oh, I think it is," said Asmodeus, not letting go of the subject, "Because whoever it is seems to need us here very badly. Very badly indeed."

Zalador sneered at Asmodeus and lowered his sword. "Very well," said the Dark Angel, "You may leave this place freely with your troops, but do not return above ground. It will be the last thing you ever do!" With that, he swiftly turned away and marched back to the ruined castle, gesturing for his troops to follow.

Asmodeus' grip on his sword hilt slowly relaxed as he watched the enemy leave. He turned to his ragged assortment of men, Elves and Dwarves and nodded.

The retinue turned and marched back to the underground with its tail between its legs.


End file.
